


red flavor, i'm curious honey

by dearly__beloved



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: 2+1 Things, 5+1 Things, Cottage core, Cute, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Oblivious!Mark, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Slice of Life, Summer, Translation Available, kitten!Jisung, not really - Freeform, watermelon farmer!Donghyuck, watermelon farmer!Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly__beloved/pseuds/dearly__beloved
Summary: the two times watermelon farmer Mark gives free watermelons to the pretty farmer in the fruit stand next to his and the one time the pretty farmer gives him something in return.Edited and Vietnamese translation 6/03/2020.moved to ao3 account hoelisticfind me here
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 40
Kudos: 247





	red flavor, i'm curious honey

**Author's Note:**

> Haru and Junesuns said they wanted watermelon farmer markhyuck so I present: watermelon farmer markhyuck. And I wanted to try writing fics that weren’t magical realism. The only other one I have on here rn that isn’t is Suns and Strawberries.
> 
> List of things that went on in my head while writing this:
> 
>   * This fic is inspired by the Californian college town I used to live in; it’s my favorite place on earth. And it’s also inspiredby my brief stint as a farmer at my alma matter. My environmental studies professor rented a piece of land for our honors section to cultivate strawberries during the quarter. I just wanted to finish my honors program requirements and didn’t sign up to raise strawberries…
>   * Mark holding that watermelon on Music Bank.
>   * My love for gg summer bops.
>   * It started raining in California during summer like always.
>   * If you can find all the Easter eggs, I’ll love you forever.
>   * My former PI will probably be sad I was writing this instead of of sending him my coding projects.
> 

> 
> Vietnamese translation by @sunnymango: [Word Press](https://sunshinehoneyandcaramel.wordpress.com/2020/08/02/transfic-markhyuck-red-flavor-im-curious-honey/) & [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/235398502-transfic-markhyuck-red-flavor-i%27m-curious-honey%20)

mark wishes that the pretty boy in the stand next to him stops making his heart flutter underneath the tender sunlight.

on mark’s table is an assortment of watermelons and peaches lying on a dark green clothe. there’s a pink scale with little acrylic watermelons painted on it placed at the very edge of the table — courtesy of his aunt, who thought the fruit themed scale was an appropriate good luck gift for a recent graduate just beginning to gain independence.

terribly written in yellow and blue chalk on small pieces of blackboard are the summery fruits’ prices and little stars to completely fill up whatever blank space is left.

the morning sun is dazzling and cheerful today — unwilling to succumb to the threat of thick clouds that sometimes are the spill-over of april showers and the temperamental march that was always too angry to fully transition into spring.

the jubilant yellow star chases the thick clouds away, almost like a moody meteor dispersing and obliterating any small white dwarf stars in its path. the clouds are gone, leaving an empty light blue canvas and a gleaming yellow sun. 

and this sunday morning is light and airy, the sun’s beams bouncing around and hitting the tree’s green foliage with soft warmth. people are laughing and the happiness found in the most mundane of actions – grocery shopping – is almost infectious. the sun’s beams make their down to mark’s watermelon stand, lightly tapping the brim of his old baseball cap, leaving behind small shadows on his face as he puts it on. 

the watermelon farmer hums, moving around the plastic boxes full of peaches in an effort to make his fruit stand more appealing than the other ones in this plaza — the stands selling lavender and white orchids assessed to be no financial threat after showing up to this farmer’s market two years now.

each sunday morning, mark carries wooden crates full of watermelons into his blue pick-up truck, sweat trickling down his forehead and matting his black hair.

his uncle had recommended the aspiring watermelon farmer to come to this particular plaza to establish himself; the little farmer’s market was located in a college town after all, and many students preferred to buy fresh produce over the overpriced meal plans their university offered them.

mark also preferred the taste of freshly picked fruits too, their taste ripe and unspoiled by the preservatives and over-processed sugars that were used to sweeten the dining common food he remembered eating as a community college student because he was too lazy to meal prep during those two years.

  
his first summer selling watermelons at this little makeshift farmer’s market was undoubtedly his most successful one. 

being the newest vendor obviously caused mark to become a little anxious, unsure of whether or not he would be able to make a profit selling his crops here. he had already tried selling his fruit on the side of the road, but honda civics and toyota camrys would pass by without even the slightest hint of stopping at his stand.

mark placed a messily written $2.75 sign in front of his perfectly placed watermelons and waits — soon little children and university students lined up, wanting the summery red and green fruit for their beach celebrations. they would carry the sweet fruit in between underneath their arms and walk all the way to the nearby beach. the waves gently crash into the sand as they break the watermelon open with a wooden baseball bat they most likely borrowed from their university gym.

he never cares about what his customers do with the watermelons they buy. they always give mark a bright big smile when they exchange their dollar bills for their watermelon, and the smiles don’t disappear as they leave the plaza.

when the watermelon farmer packs up and drives home in his pickup truck, he can hear clear boisterous laughter coming from the beach’s direction, people sharing and feeding each other the sweet red pieces from the watermelon they had just broken. seeing how the watermelons he cared for each day during spring and harvested from the ground brought people together created a warmth in his heart mark had no words for.

but the tenderness of golden red summers no longer fills mark’s heart.

not when the pretty watermelon vendor next to him is stealing all of his customers this red flavoured summer.

the gorgeous boy in the fruit stand next to him performs a bright rendition of red velvet’s red flavour and fills the entire plaza with a melodious honey-laced tone that is somehow able to carry a sweet fragrance; it’s a tone that makes people reminiscence about the summers they used to eat fresh plates full of acidic citrus fruits and saccharine melting strawberries drizzled in rich amber coloured honey. 

the gorgeous boy comes to the farmer’s market like the silent waves that creep up on the golden coast, hitting the running children’s knees when they aren’t paying attention, not caring because they’re chasing after their friends and the golden retriever that joyfully joins them.

at first mark doesn’t think much about the boy next to him, thinking that he was another farmer passing through and trying to sell the produce the supermarkets refused to buy because they were deemed too ugly and unappealing to be showcased on their shelves — ignoring how much more delicious they are than the perfectly round and immaculate oranges they chose.

but something magical happens when people approach the pretty boy’s watermelon stand with curious eyes, unsure of whether or not to buy the red moon like fruit from him or from mark, who already provides a familiar comfort that’s not easy to dispel. 

it’s a nostalgic feeling that never fails to give comfort in a town that is slowly changing and forced to modernise with the rest of the world, refusing to leave behind its white and burnt orange monterey-style two story buildings in favour of the large steel skyscrapers that started to pervade and dominate downtown san diego and los angeles to fit in more bodies; palm trees and yellow flowers still hold a strong claim in this american riviera.

  
♬ _my honey, honey, honey  
do you have to turn back, back back  
i only want you for always  
oh baby honey honey honey  
you are my honey honey honey  
i want you so desperately_ ♬

  
the pretty boy’s singing lures them in, reminding mark of all the little watercolour posters he’s seen of alice chasing after the white hare in the hopes of finding out what motivates the little creature to run so quickly and be so worried about being late. he hands them the crimson apple he had spent months harvesting – years if you considered how the boy had to plough and take gentle care of the brown and green earth the trees took solace in – for this very moment to happen.

their eyes reflect seven coloured rainbows when they take a bite out of the pretty boy’s watermelons and mark’s watermelon stand is soon forgotten like all of the other passing by stands — unless you decided to forget count the loyal customers he was able to gain during the first two years he had been coming to this farmer’s market.

  
_♬_ _red flavor, i’m curious honey  
it tastes like slowly melting strawberry when i bite into it  
look for the corner candy shop baby  
what i like the most is the taste of summer_♬

  
mark doesn’t blame everyone for falling for the gorgeous boy that sings red velvet’s _red flavour_ and f(x)’s _hot summer_ and other summer songs that can only ever make you feel delight. 

on the soft tuft of platinum coloured hair, was a wide yellow straw hat that casts small shadows on his face when the sun hits his face and it creates a much more radiant visage than when the sun hits mark’s face, which only makes him look more beaten up by his profession. and the straw hat fails to protect everyone from how beautiful the boy’s caramel-toned skin is and how bright his doe-like brown eyes are. they radiate a warmth that is only heightened by the golden shimmer that lines the boy’s eyes. the gorgeous watermelon vendor wears a loose white t-shirt that almost hangs over his body and blue denim shorts so short they make his legs look like they run for miles.

everything about the watermelon vendor is a splendid gold that reminds mark of a summer faerie — ethereal and something that looks out of a watercolour children’s book used to entice children into agriculture-driven employment with promises of a life that will always see the white stars in the sky when the moon wakes up from its daytime slumber.

a golden summer faerie that makes the plain white shirt and black shorts and black baseball cap clad mark look like a gloomy frat boy that woke up on the wrong side of the bed after drinking to the point of his liver failing.

  
“hello,” his rival interrupts mark’s train of thought, eyes bright with wonder. mark almost falls flat on his face, almost forgetting that he was resting his chin on his first. pink almost dusts mark’s cheeks as the boy’s curious eyes land on him.

  
_almost_.

a very close almost.

mark is sunburned from the sun harshly hitting his stand and instead of being sun-kissed like the farmer boy standing in front of him, he almost turns red and he can feel his skin start peeling; luckily his uncle had reminded him to bring sunscreen every day to make sure that the sun doesn’t wither him away like dandelions when summer comes. the little ochre-yellow weeds blossom during spring only to turn white and dissipate with the changing seasons.

“hello?” mark dumbly replies. he doesn’t know what else to say to the boy who has stolen all of his customers. he blinks and looks down at the watermelons he arranged earlier before making eye contact with his beautiful watermelon farmer rival.

“can i help you with something?”

“yes,” the boy smiles, eyes becoming small crescents. “i would like to buy one watermelon.”

“you want to buy a watermelon? from me?” mark repeats and a confused expression forms on his face. the boy sells watermelons for a living – and is much more successful than mark himself – so why would he want to buy a watermelon from him? simply by owning and running a watermelon stand that is located just next to mark’s makes them rivals and rivals shouldn’t be buying fruit from each other. that defeats the purpose of being rivals doesn’t it?

 _Right_?

mark’s confused expression must surprise the boy, for his cheeks start becoming painted in such a light pink that one almost wouldn’t notice the blanket of bashful dust. the only give away that the boy is becoming the tiniest bit shy is the brim of his straw hat failing to cover his face from the sun, the light illuminating the slight pink tinge on his cherubic cheeks.

“i do. one watermelon please.” he replies, the saccharine sweet smile still very much present; so sweet and full of dimples, that it reminds mark of the little red strawberries that line the boy’s white and light pink gingham-clothed vending stand. “i kind of ran out of watermelons around a half hour ago and i forgot to save one for myself.”

the saccharine smile turns sheepish as he rubs the nape of his neck. the watermelon farmer looks even more adorable if it was even possible for someone who forgot to reserve some of his own stock for himself to enjoy like every other responsible farmer else does.

yes, mark cultivates and grows fresh produce to sell each week on his own and outsources to local supermarket to make a living, but he also grows watermelons because he truly loves the taste of the moon-shaped fruit. 

when he takes a bite out of the red and green crescent, his mouth is filled with black stars that are soon shot out so that he can relish in the bright red sweet fruit. 

his love for how the watermelon fruit makes him happy and almost drunk in its sweetness, compelled him to become someone who could share that happiness by making sure that each fruit was growth with much care. the watermelon farmer is absolutely certain that the boy is just as passionate about cultivating watermelons as he is for he always sings sweet nothings to the watermelons he carries in on sunday mornings in the flower decorated wooden crates he has in the back of his sunflower-yellow pickup truck. there’s even a little strawberry prince keychain that’s hung on the rear-view mirror that’s been aged by the sun but unyielding and too stubborn to become completely washed out.

mark hands the boy a large watermelon he deems is the best one of the batch; he likens it to a little green moon with red carnage that will eventually melt on the tongue with its sweetness. “don’t worry about paying for it. this one is one the house.”

  
“you sure? i can pay you.” the boy tries to hand mark a couple dollar bills, but mark dismisses him with a quick hand wave.

“it’s cool. you can just think about it as a favour you can pay me later.”

the boy beams at mark and the watermelon farmer feels like the sun is sending a heart-fluttering smile in his direction. he feels his heart melting at the sight of the boy that reminds him how the gentle star giant kisses the orange groves that line the sea cliffs, permeating the town in an acidic fragrance that makes people undeniably happy.

“thank you so much. i’ll be sure to return the favour soon,” he sings as he walks back to his faerie light-covered watermelon stand. 

the pretty watermelon farmer starts singing dance the night away as he carves open the watermelon and cuts the fruit into smaller star-shaped pieces. the happiness that the boy exudes as he bites to the watermelon’s red flesh tints mark’s heart with a pink feeling he doesn’t know any other way to describe other than the colour he associates valentine’s day with. 

he’s never really had a valentine’s day sweetheart growing up, being one of the few boys that hadn’t quite grown into his limbs until he finally entered middle school, but mark’s mind is filled with the presumption that the happiness of seeing the person you gave chocolates to on that day fills your heart with a tenderness that can’t be described any other way other than infatuation.

  
🍉

  
today the pretty farmer next door decides to decorate his fruit stand with small statues of faeries and white lights that are somehow able to create a fantastical wonderland that summons a summer kissed christmas in the middle of a shopping plaza that has only ever known busy toyota camrys and whatever car students have brought with them from home.

mark isn’t exactly sure how the beautiful boy was able to bring in so many ceramic statues without having a single one of them crack — he theorises that’s a sort of magnificent and magical fairyism that is able to eat up and spit out the stars to do whatever whim – no matter how unreasonable it is – that materialises in the boy’s mind and compels everyone to become curled around his green thumb. 

the faerie statues and their platinum stardust entice running children to come to the watermelon farmer’s stand and tug on their parents’ shirts to buy them fruit. their parents succumb to their requests, also enthralled by the childlike wonder that the artificial fairyism provides.

here, even adults are allowed to bask in compassion and a gentleness that is often only reserved for children as the pretty watermelon farmer gives them the warmest smile when he sends them off with transparent bags full of small nuts tied with a chequered blue and white ribbon.

and today the pretty farmer is wearing a pair of cropped washed out denim overalls – a beautiful contrast to his sun-kissed skin – and his large straw hat is the colour of wheat with a white sunflower that’s pined on the right side. his hair is no longer silver, instead a bronze brown with streaks of pastel pink and light green that refuse to blend into the soft tuft of brown they’re dyed on. 

he’s a seven rainbow-coloured faerie surrounded by faeries and animal sprites and soft white starlight blossoms in the middle of a farmer’s market that has decided to take root in a shopping plaza.

  
♬ _nanana nanana  
you and me in the moonlight  
a night of stars, flowers and festivals  
the sound of the waves is on and we’re dancing right now  
this feels so perfect_ ♬ 

_♬_ _if you wanna have some fun  
don’t let go of this special happiness  
that’s like the silver sand  
one two three, let’s go  
let’s go dance like flying to space  
hey! let’s dance the night away_ ♬ 

he sings _dance the night away_ again today and reorganises his strawberry filled green cartons out of boredom; there’s not many students as the university has gone between summer sessions and they were making room for their sub-leasers, leaving empty apartments and beaches. 

mark notices that today the pretty farmer didn’t bring any watermelons with him today. instead his daisy covered table is covered with rows of strawberries and oranges that seem to be a hit with everyone that passes by, each person taking with them a bag of oranges and a small box of strawberries. mark doesn’t do too bad for himself either – as summer is peaking right now – and students enrolled in summer session are buying watermelons to bash open at a beach bonfire he overhears them talking about.

the pretty faerie farmer comes back to mark’s stand and peers over the watermelons, gently pressing the pads of his fingers on the fruit deciding which one to buy today. he decides on one of the smaller watermelons and reaches for his front pocket for loose change.

“don’t worry about it. it’s on the house today,” says mark before the faerie boy can dig his hands deeper into his overall’s pocket. he gives the faerie boy a small smile that tries to reassure him that everything is okay, and it softens the faerie boy’s anxious expression into a more relaxed one; one that is full of twinkling eyes that gleam brighter than the morning sun.

“but i didn’t pay for yesterday’s watermelon either,” the pretty faerie farmer reminds him with a gleam so bright that mark’s train of thought is disrupted.

  
“seriously. you don’t have to worry about it. your bright smile is payment enough for me,” mark blurts out before he has a moment to process what he just said. the beautiful boy looks almost as shocked as mark does and he can feel the strawberries’ colour painting his face in crimson.

“um…”

  
_shit_. what do i say? what do i say?

  
“um…i meant that i really like it when you sing. i think that you sang smile again the other and that’s like my favourite song and it made me really happy, so this is the least i can do to repay you,” the watermelon farmer finally spits out, almost as if he were a kpop boy group rapper — maybe in another universe where his affection for watermelons didn’t convince him to become a farmer. 

  
mark prays that his excuse makes sense. even though the cute watermelon farmer and him have been working side by side during the entire first half of this summer, this was only the second time they’ve ever talked to each other. and well flirting with the cute boy might make him uncomfortable and not want to talk to him again. mark may have considered the cute boy to be his rival for the first couple of weeks, but he didn’t want to rob him of his beautiful smile.

the cute watermelon farmer looks like he’s about to say something, but he seems to hesitant to share what he was thinking with mark. “thank you for liking my singing,” he manages to reply back with another bright smile. “i thought that i was annoying everyone by singing sistar all the time with the occasional twice song.” 

mark waves his hands, hoping that he’ll be able to manoeuvre his way out of this one. “no. no. no. i actually think that your voice is really pretty. it’s almost like you laced it with strawberries because each song comes out very sweet and very sincere.”

this time it’s the pretty watermelon farmer’s face becomes red like the fruit he plucks and brings in everyday in his yellow pickup truck. “thank you. i’ll um…see you next sunday?”

“yeah.”

today ends with mark internally calling himself an idiot as he packs up what’s left over of the watermelons he brought with him today. he made a fool out of himself in front of the cute watermelon farmer and now he probably won’t talk to mark again. mark probably wouldn’t talk to himself either if he was the cute watermelon farmer. he sighs and puts the last wooden crate in the trunk of his pickup truck. 

hopefully next sunday, mark won’t embarrass himself again in front of the cute watermelon farmer. he can feel pink creep up to his cheeks, this time reminding him of the shame that’s filling his heart right now.

  
🍉

  
this week’s sunday isn’t filled with strawberry-laced singing or fire rainbows — she’s moody and filled with clouds that threaten to cover the morning sun. mark finds himself pouring hot coffee in his green moomin patterned mug that he bought in a thrift store one day after coming back from the farmer’s market the first year he started going there. 

instead of his usual ripped black jeans and plain white t-shirt, he’s in a warm oversized brown sweater that reminds him of a teddy bear and a pair of black joggers so worn that they might not last another load in the washing machine; even if it’s summer, sometimes it’s so hot in southern california that warm rain decides to waltz its way in not caring to wait for autumn to come. mark would rather be teased for wearing a teddy bear sweater than risk getting completely drenched by mischievous summer rain.

he takes a sip out of the bitter black coffee and looks out his bay window, the bear and lion plushies he won at a carnival he went with his high school friends one summer before he commenced his profession as a watermelon farmer lining the ledge.

“it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be a lot of people today,” he remarks looking out the window. the thick clouds drift and plunge, too undecisive and too temperamental for a season that should always be embraced in heart fluttering sunshine and quiet crashing waves. “i shouldn’t bring too much stock today. just a couple watermelons and apples.”

mark finishes his coffee and takes the used mug to the sink. he turns on the faucet lets the tepid water rinse his green moomin mug before he scrubs it clean with his old copper sponge. deciding that the mug is clean enough, mark places it on his dish rack and grabs an old straw hat he had laying around the kitchen table before making his way out, keys hitting against his old phone in his pocket.

  
🍉

  
mark arrives at the farmer’s market forty-minutes later, only a couple wooden crates of fruit in the back of his pickup truck. he had taken a little longer to get to the plaza, too distracted by his little sunflower-coloured cat. jisung had decided to jump into the truck when mark was packing up and play around with the little cross he had on the rear window. it took a lot of prying and compromising to let jisung join him to the farmer’s market, the kitten curled up on his lap as mark was driving.

he lets jisung jump out of the beat-up truck as he takes out the keys – one could never be careful enough – and he moves towards the back of his truck. mark opens the back and takes out his table, unfolding it in its usual spot. after fifteen minutes and another five minutes of prying jisung off the tent, mark was finally satisfied with his fruit stand; he takes a seat and waits for customers to arrive. 

like he predicted, business was slow today because of the moody weather — the sun’s warmth entices people to enjoy the red flavour of summer, but the moving clouds entice people to enjoy the comforts of their bed, laying down on books waiting like a little kitten waiting for the day to become much more cheerful.

mark waits there, playing animal crossing on his nintendo switch. jisung sits comfortably on his lap, not caring that the sunshine can appear any minute and disrupt his nap; he dreams of chasing little mice around the farmhouse and walking along the orange and lemon groves never caring that mark doesn’t like it when he rests on the citrus fruits. 

the watermelon farmer lets himself doze off too. he doesn’t see any need for himself to be awake. it’s only 8 am and he doesn’t think that people will start coming until 10 AM at the most; southern california always finds itself moving at its own pace, people choosing to become busy ants avoiding the 405 or people choosing to roll out of bed in the afternoon only to find themselves sleeping again.

“jisung?” mark says, waking up from his quick nap. “jisung? where are you?”

the confused watermelon farmer rubs his eyes before looking underneath the table. 

he’s not here, mark thinks to himself. maybe he went back inside the truck. nope. he’s not here either. where could he have gone?

mark continues looking around his fruit stand, but the kitten covered in golden peach fuzz is nowhere in sight, and anxiety begins to fill his heart.

jisung was just shy of a year and very small. jisung could have easily gotten run over by a car if one didn’t look carefully enough. what if he got lost and went hungry because he was stupid and fell asleep?

  
a million scenarios fill mark’s mind before he hears a familiar voice singing.

  
♬ _attention around me  
eyes taken by me  
they feel dull  
if you wanna get my love  
if you wanna steal my heart  
start differently  
never lose me_ ♬

jisung was being cradled in the pretty watermelon farmer’s arms without a care in the world. the sun-kissed boy presses a small kiss on the kitten’s nose and continues singing aoa’s _good luck_ , which jisung reciprocates with a purr so pliant and tender that mark is almost left indignant — jisung had never been that affectionate towards strangers before. it had taken mark several trips to the local shelter for the little kitten to finally warm up to him.

  
he slowly marches to the pretty watermelon farmer’s stand, his steps not going unnoticed.

“hi!” the boy beams, jisung’s ears twitching up. “are you here for this little guy?”

“yeah,” mark exhales out. “i’m so sorry i let jisung stray off. you didn’t have to take care of him.”

“don’t worry about it,” the boy replies handing him the little kitten with much care. “i did owe you after all and this little guy was too cute to not take care of him. what’s his name?”

“jisung.”

“that’s such a cute name.” he reaches out to pet jisung’s head. “i didn’t peg you to be a cat person.”

“well i wasn’t until i adopted jisung,” mark replies, cheeks becoming tinted. “again, i’m really sorry for bothering you. i’ll be sure that jisung doesn’t bother you again.”

“you don’t need to apologise. i love cute kittens. they’re always cute like their owners. and like i said before, i already owed you for the free watermelons so think of this as one less favour i owe you now.”“i would still like to thank you um…”

the summer faerie smiles. “donghyuck. you can call me donghyuck.”

“donghyuck, thank you. i’m mark by the way.”

“well then, i hope to see you next sunday mark,” donghyuck says, eyes twinkling. “and you too jisung.”

“see you,” mark quietly says, carrying jisung with him.

“jisung,” he sighs as he talks to his pet. sometimes he swears that the little kitten completely understands him; there was one-time jisung had brought mark his cap when he almost forgot it on the way to the farmer’s market. “you embarrassed me again. donghyuck probably thinks i’m a lo—”

“wait what’s this?”

  
along jisung’s neck was a blue and white chequered ribbon with a small piece of paper attached to it.

  
_(977) 585-1085  
hey i think you’re kinda cute. text me_.

mark’s first and second summer selling watermelons might have been his most financially successful ones —

but it’s his third summer selling watermelons the one that makes his heart flutter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos (I do read each one and I always try my best to respond when I can.) I tried making this enemies to lovers but then I remembered my middle school enemy in the middle of writing this, and I was like this isn’t going to happen and it ended up becoming a 2+1 things fic — imagine two angry gremlins beefing. And feel free to talk to me on twitter. I’m active there now. 
> 
> for more markhyuck fluff check out  
> [us against the world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642312)
> 
> Talk to me. I'm bored |ω･)ﾉ:  
> [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/she-minion)  
>    
> [The Trevor Project](https://www.thetrevorproject.org/?gclid=CjwKCAjw5cL2BRASEiwAENqAPhxOuYnrbOtzgOng5ewGXwtHd7HVP_5e9SBE-MN-EIfYvT6ZrWB03hoChGUQAvD_BwE) | [Feeding America](https://www.feedingamerica.org/find-your-local-foodbank) | [Missing and Murdered Indigenous Womxn Epidemic Carrd](https://mmiwresources.carrd.co/)  
> 


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